Locksmith
by silvermyth
Summary: The apartment's sole occupant, sitting in an armchair and sipping tea, was not Axel, and Demyx, in his surprise, said as much: "You're not Axel." "No," the man agreed.


**A/N:** I saw an AU prompt on tumblr, and instantly knew I HAD to write a Zemyx fic to it. So here we are! Hooray!

 **Locksmith**

Demyx parked his car three blocks from Axel's apartment building, choosing the darkest spot he could find. He wasn't the sneakiest person in the world, but he figured that, at the very least, it wouldn't do for Axel to see Demyx's car when he looked out his window. The idea, after all, was to _not_ get caught.

It had started the week before, while Demyx had been out with the guys from work. He should've known, the second Luxord opened his mouth, that what would follow was a bad idea. Luxord was notorious both for making ridiculous bets, and for _winning_ them, and yet, when he said "Want to make a bet?" Demyx had bobbed his head in enthusiasm. After all, if he won the bet, Luxord promised to take half of Demyx's workload for a full week. If he lost…well. All he had to do was sneak into Axel's apartment at night and snap a few photos as proof. It couldn't be that difficult.

Except, Demyx didn't make a habit of breaking into people's homes.

He'd spent much of the next few days teaching himself to pick a lock, with mixed results. Demyx wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to get through a real door; he frowned, and hoped Axel wasn't the type to latch the deadbolt, to save him a little effort. If he was really lucky, maybe he could even make do with jimmying the door with a credit card. Those were all big maybes, though, and he _had_ to win the bet.

He shrugged his hoodie higher on his shoulders as he crossed the street, eying the apartment building. He'd been to Axel's only a handful of times, enough to remember that there was a trick to getting through the front door without a key, but not enough to remember the apartment number. He'd written that on his hand, the numbers blue on his skin as he jiggled the handle for the main entrance. After a few moments, he felt the latch give, and the door swung forward. Demyx grinned.

The halls were empty and quiet at this time of night, and he breathed a small sigh of relief. He had excuses at the ready, but that didn't make him any less anxious about being caught doing something that was _technically_ illegal. Axel wasn't one to call the cops, but a nosy neighbor might. The thought was enough to make him sweat, just a little, or maybe that was just the hallway, acting as a heat trap.

Whichever it was, Demyx found himself on the third floor, surveying the numbers on the doors, trying to match them to the smudged one on his hand. When he found the right door, he took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, before dropping to his knees to examine the lock.

One look told him that he'd never fit a card between the door and the jamb, and he sighed, pulling a tool roll from his pocket, resigning himself to the task.

He did the main lock first, casting furtive glances to either side of him as he set the tiny tension wrench and fiddled with the pick, feeling out the tumblers. They gave, easily enough, and Demyx tested the knob; it turned freely, though the deadbolt was engaged, after all.

It proved to be a much bigger challenge than the first lock.

Five minutes in, and Demyx was biting his lip in frustration, reaching for the third pick. It was another five before he felt the final tumbler set; he pumped his fist in quiet triumph, and pushed the door open slowly.

There was a light on, and that was the first sign that something had not gone according to plan.

The apartment's sole occupant, sitting in an armchair and sipping tea, was not Axel, and Demyx, in his surprise, said as much: "You're not Axel."

"No," the man agreed. He had only one visible eye, the other hidden by a long fringe of slate hair, but Demyx could clearly see the raised eyebrow.

"Uhm. I—uh." Demyx's mind was working in overtime, trying to find the best response to the situation. Except, this wasn't an outcome he could've ever anticipated. It didn't help that the guy was _fucking hot_.

"Would you like a tea biscuit?" The man gestured at a tray on the coffee table.

"Oh." Rather than straining itself with mental acrobatics, Demyx's brain decided that it would be much safer to follow a familiar script, and he stepped further into the apartment to accept. "Thank you."

The man nodded, and pointed to the sofa. "Have a seat. I'm Zexion, by the way."

Demyx, on autopilot, sat. "Nice to meet you. I'm Demyx." Zexion's eyebrow was still high on his forehead, and there was a little smirk on his lips.

"Demyx. You should really practice your lock picking skills more before you break into someone's apartment," he said mildly. "You're quite bad." Zexion kept talking as he poured a cup of tea for Demyx. "You were there for what, fifteen minutes? You were rather loud, too."

"Uhm." Demyx scratched the back of his head. "Sorry? Look, uh, Zexion, right? I was actually trying to sneak into my friend's place for a bet. But I accidentally got the wrong apartment number. Please don't call the cops?" he finished in a rush.

Zexion let out a bark of a laugh. "I gathered as much. Axel lives next door." He cocked his head, and his hair fell to the side, revealing his second eye. "A bet, hm? I could help you, if you like."

Demyx blinked. "Help me?"

Zexion shrugged, letting his hair fall back in his face. "Sure. I know a little about picking locks; I could give you some pointers."

Demyx looked down at his untouched tea, considering.

"I'm not going to bite." Zexion's expression, when Demyx looked up, was wry. After a beat, he added, "Unless you're into that." Demyx wondered if he was imagining the pink that tinged Zexion's cheeks at the comment.

"Yeah. Okay." After the words were out of his mouth, Demyx felt his own face heat up. "Uh, that came out wrong."

Zexion peered at him through his curtain of hair. "I know what you meant." He stood abruptly. "Okay. Sit at the table, I'll be right back."

It was a strange turn of events, Demyx mused several minutes later. Zexion had produced a lock pick kit, complete with a practice lock, and spread it out on his little two-seater table, and proceeded to instruct him. After a quick demonstration, Zexion had let Demyx practice for a bit, before leaning over him and guiding Demyx's hands with his own. It was startlingly intimate, and Demyx found himself losing focus more than once, his attention drawn instead to their proximity.

"If you can handle this," Zexion said finally, "you should be able to get through the locks here with a lot less trouble."

"Thank you. Time to try again, then!" He offered Zexion a winning smile.

Zexion moved to let Demyx out. "It's the one to the right." His hand paused on the door handle, and he turned and padded back into the other room, scribbling something on a piece of paper. He handed it to Demyx. For the first time since Demyx had intruded, Zexion showed a little hesitation. "Uhm. So you can tell me how it goes?"

Demyx looked at the neat letters, spelling out Zexion's name, followed by a phone number. He felt his breath stutter just a bit, excitement racing through him. "Yeah! Of course!" He folded it up and tucked it into his wallet.

Back in the hallway, Demyx knelt, in front of the correct door this time. Zexion lingered at his door, watching, and when Demyx managed to pick both locks in only a few minutes, he shot Zexion a thumbs-up. Zexion smiled in return, before disappearing into his apartment.

Compared to his encounter with Zexion, the foray into Axel's apartment was uneventful, and after a few quick pictures of Axel's snoring face, he was done.

The hallway was empty again. Demyx paused at Zexion's door, resting his hand on the wood for a moment. It was the hand with the smudged apartment number, and Demyx grinned to himself. Then, in a burst of spontaneity, he knocked. Because, really, why text Zexion when he was right there?

The Zexion that answered the door was different from the one who had calmly watched Demyx break into his apartment.

Zexion's face was decidedly pink, this time, his one visible eye wide. "You're back." He seemed to compose himself, taking a breath. "A text would've been sufficient."

Demyx pursed his lips. "Yeah. I guess so." He glanced down at his feet, suddenly self-conscious. But Zexion looked so cute, caught off-guard like this, and— "Can I kiss you?"

Zexion took a step back, and Demyx had a moment of worrying that he'd been dead wrong, panic ready to claw up his throat. But Zexion waved him in, wordless, shutting the door behind them, and then surprised Demyx by pressing him against it. "I promise I don't make a habit of letting strange men into my home," Zexion murmured, his breath hot against Demyx's face. "Let alone kiss me. You're an anomaly. Understand?"

Demyx's breath was caught in his throat, so he nodded, instead.

"Good." With that apparently settled, Zexion closed the small distance between them, obliging Demyx's request for a kiss.


End file.
